The CleanSweep Conspiracy

by Chuck Waldron

  The excitement in Susan’s voice was palpable. “This guy, Ulrich, had it all. On tape. Can you believe it—the man recorded everything? All the sordid details of how they planned CleanSweep are there. Claussen can be heard talking about personally funding a secret militia. That’s why the riots were so bad—he destroyed so much of our city so we would turn around and beg him for protection.”

  “Freakin’ unreal!” Matt said. “That explains what I found out—”

  “I’m sorry to cut you off, Matt, but this means we have proof. I know it’s a cliché, but we have the smoking gun. Using this on top of the rest of the facts we have uncovered, we can take it public. The world has to listen to us now.”

  “I have two personal stories—firsthand accounts—from a man and a woman who were arrested and put into the CleanSweep system. They managed to escape. I’ve had a harrowing couple of days myself,” Matt said.

  “Are you safe? I’ve been worried for us all,” Susan said. “What did you find out?”

  Matt told her about Stinky and his tour guides through the ruins of the Distillery District. He told her about Clifford and Mattie, choking back sobs as he described how she’d died. He told her about his own narrow escape.

  There was a soft knocking on the door then, in a pattern that had been agreed to earlier.

  “Cliff’s back. He’s with me now, and he helped me buy these phones. I have them programmed with the numbers you and I established.” Matt looked at a clock. “We have to hang up now. Phone three the next time.”

  “Be safe, Matt. We need one another more than ever now.”

  Safety was at the top of Matt’s worry list as he walked to the door.

  “Hurry,” he said as he pulled Cliff into the room. Matt leaned out into the hall and looked both ways before he locked the door behind them. “This feels more and more like we’re inside the plot of a bad spy movie. Grab a seat. I’ll throw some things in a bag, and we can get out of here.”

  “We don’t have any time to waste,” Cliff said. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”

  Matt told him about his conversation with Susan. “We have it, Cliff. We have the proof we need—and it’s all on record.”

  “You don’t need me, then?” Cliff asked. “Was it worth it for Mattie? We had our safe places and we gave it all up to meet with you.” There was a bitter tone to his words.

  “I may not be the trained journalist Susan Payne is,” Matt said. “I didn’t graduate with a degree—I can only claim some night classes at a community college—but I know what it means to be a real reporter. I know what it is like to be a seeker of truth. I understand the need to have sources to back up a story.” Matt stood up and paced the room as he talked. The passion in his voice was unmistakable. “For all we know, Claussen has a team of experts on his payroll who will try to prove the recording Ulrich made is a fake.”

  “Who’s Ulrich?”

  “He’s the guy who made the recording. If his audio is discredited, people can just say we were acting out of spite—a vendetta. After all, who would doubt the word of a genius like Charles Claussen? But with you and Mattie to corroborate…”

  Trying to sound reassuring, Matt continued, “To have any hope of bringing CleanSweep down, we’ll have to reveal several levels of truth, and layer them over the main story, like frosting on a cake. The recording Ulrich made, along with Tanner’s background material, serve as the ingredients for the cake. You and Mattie make up the ingredients for the icing.”

  “I hope so.” Cliff’s voice lacked conviction.

  “All of this isn’t worth anything without the icing,” Matt said. “Claussen will do everything in his power to get to us. Tanner’s death is proof enough of that. Susan and I may know how to dig for a story, but we’re way out of our depth now. We’ve stayed ahead of them by luck and instinct.”

  “Don’t I know that!” Cliff said. “We were only seconds away from meeting the same fate Mattie did.”

  “Somehow it doesn’t feel comforting to think we should succeed due to the mere fact that we have right on our side, does it?”

  Clifford started to laugh when Matt said that, and Matt recognized an undertone of hysteria in it. Cliff laughed until he began to cough, but the coughing soon turned to a mournful crying that was painful to Matt’s ears.

  When Cliff finally finished venting his anxiety and fear, Matt had a question for him.

  “How did you escape? You never told me.”

  “I wish I could say it was a brave act on my part. I was never in the danger Mattie was…”

  Matt waited.

  “I wish it were more dramatic,” Cliff said. “When I was locked up—arrested is too nice a word to use—I was taken to a holding station to await transfer. Mattie talked about the vans with the hard seats and handcuff restraints being uncomfortable—they were that. The van I rode in was filled with men, and the smell of our sweat was overpowering. It had to be because of our anxiety.

  “At the larger intake facility, we were separated and lined up in some predetermined order. I ended up in being interviewed alone in a sort of interrogation room. One of my captors looked at some papers and said he didn’t know why I had been detained. The other one, a woman, said she would go and check on the details. It was apparent they didn’t know what to do with me. She left, and the other interrogator followed after her, leaving me sitting there trying to collect my thoughts. Finally, the man came back and gave me a form that gave me instructions to go to another room.” Cliff started to laugh. This time, it was a derisive laugh.

  “You’d think they had things all figured out, but I think a lot of their plan was put together in haste. You know about the devil hiding in the details? They’re enamored with all kinds of high-tech gadgets, but they let me walk down a hall, alone, with only a slip of paper in my hand.

  “While I was walking, I saw an alcove on my right—a door in the far wall. For some reason, I walked over to inspect it. I was curious and no one was around, so why not, right? I looked both ways, making sure I wasn’t seen, and I stepped up to it. It was unlocked. Can you believe that? The door wasn’t locked—I just walked out. It was as simple as that. That’s why I know they’re vulnerable. I still have it—the form.”

  Cliff reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper that had been carefully folded.

  Matt unfolded it, and while the information on it wasn’t critical to their investigation, the very existence of such evidence was.

  They were sitting in silence when Matt’s phone chimed. He looked down at the screen.

  “It’s Cyberia.”

  “Cyberia?” Cliff’s eyebrows rose.

  “I’ll tell you when this is finished.” Matt realized that communicating with Cyberia on a phone that was so old it didn’t have a QWERTY keyboard was going to be a lesson in patience. He cringed at the typos, but he had to turn off his internal editor and keep typing fast, to keep the contact brief. After they had finished, Matt closed the phone and turned back to Cliff.

  “I’ve never told anyone about Cyberia. He’s part of a small group of us who have learned to trust one another. Each one of us recognizes the danger around us.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “It was a gradual thing, Cliff. I joined a forum, an online group. More than one, actually, but this was a hangout for bloggers like me. We liked to call ourselves journalists, and I soon learned to recognize the ones who really were.”

  Matt started pacing. “I was drawn to the comments from someone with a screen name like that. Cyberia, spelled like a combination of “cyber” and the place, was a unique name, wouldn’t you agree? One day he suggested a private chat. Our alliance grew from that point on. We’ve even shared some personal stuff, but not much, for safety. He’s still an enigma.” Matt chuckled.

  “What was it that Winston Churchill said about Russia?” Cliff asked. />
  “‘Russia’s a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.’ That’s Cyberia,” Matt said. “He may be all that, but he’s saved my life—and yours.” Matt hesitated before continuing, “Our group learned that Claussen has been busy beyond our borders. He wants to spread his gospel of evil. There are people in other countries who recognize the strategic value of CleanSweep. One goal of using anarchy is to disrupt social or political order—if you create enough chaos and aren’t too concerned about collateral damage or human casualties, you can bring down governments pretty quickly. Then the people will call for a leader with a plan to replace chaos with something new, to create order again.

  “History is littered with countless stories of how easy it is to create chaos. Creating order from chaos, though,” Matt said with a shrug, “has proved to be elusive at best. This time, Claussen and his group think they have just the thing in mind. Cyberia knows there is a CleanSweep replica being started up in Moscow.”

  “I had no idea,” Cliff said.

  “Hell, none of us did. We all assumed it was a local thing.”

  “Have they had riots in Moscow? Has it happened anywhere else?”

  “We don’t think it’s gone that far. Cyberia thinks the Russians are waiting to see how well it works here.”

  “It must be hard, communicating like that,” Cliff said, pointing to the phone.

  “What choice do we have? We’ve always kept the time we spent chatting online under an agreed-on limit. It may or may not help, but we have been lucky so far.”

  “What does any of that have to do with us now?” Cliff asked.

  “Not much, I suppose,” Matt said. “Somehow, though, this all fits together like a jigsaw puzzle, and no piece of the puzzle is unimportant.”

  Sitting back, Matt laced his hands behind his head. “It’s been a long day. With some luck, I may be able to find something to drink.”

  “What’s next?” asked Cliff, voicing something they were both wondering.

  “I know it isn’t safe to stay here,” Matt said. “I’ve kept this place a secret, but is it still? It’s safer than the streets, anyway.”

  “I’ll bet Claussen and Vaughn have been turning over every rock, looking for you. I know what that’s like. One of their recognition cameras is bound to pick us up, once they’re running again. That’s why I was so worried about that blinking red light on the streetcar camera. You said Cyberia wouldn’t be able to turn them off again, once they were back in operation…” Cliff said.

  Matt stared out the window, looking at something only he could see. He kept his thinking hidden from Cliff. He closed his eyes finally, pinching the skin on his forehead.

  “A damn headache,” he said. “I agree it will be dangerous on the streets. I don’t think it’s safe at all.”

  “What if they find out where you live and come knocking. What then?”

  Matt was almost tempted to tell him about the safe room, the destruction he’d wreaked on his computers, and the escape hatch.

  One of the phones on the side table started ringing.

  CHAPTER 33

  Another Close Call

  “Who’s that?” Clifford wanted to know.

  “It’s Carling!” Matt held the phone to his ear and listened.

  “No time for ‘Hello’ or ‘How are you?’”

  Matt motioned to Cliff that it was safe.

  “It’s all over the air and streaming to all police computers,” Carling said. “They have now issued an electronic, direct order to each officer. Police are expected to cooperate with CleanSweep agents, no exceptions. We were reminded of the notice, the initial order to work with them. You, my friend, have made it to the top of the list as Public Enemy Number One. How’s that for a laugh? I think I’m probably committing treason by talking to you now.”

  “Am I safe here?”

  “Who knows?” said Carling. “Maybe you are for the moment. That’s the best I can say.”

  “Those names you gave me at the baseball game. One was Mattie’s. Have you heard about what happened to her?”

  When Carling replied in the negative, Matt told him about meeting Stinky and finding his way to the conservatory. He heard a deep breath from Carling when he described Mattie’s final moments.

  “Fuck. I was afraid of something like that. What about Cliff?”

  “He’s here, with me.”

  “If I was able to find out where you live, CleanSweep agents will follow the same paper trail I did. You guys are in danger—”

  Matt jerked around at the sound of his front door closing. Clifford was gone. An empty beer bottle sat on the coffee table next to where he had been sitting.

  “Hold on,” Matt said. He ran to the door and opened it. Cliff was nowhere to be seen. He closed the door, turned, and then saw a note sitting next to the bottle.

  “Shit,” Matt said. “Cliff’s just taken off. He left a note, says he’s gone to ground. He says he knows a place they will never find him. Damn. I’m short on friends as it is—and I couldn’t even say thanks or good-bye.”

  “He’s good, but if he gets caught, he will lead them back to you. There’s no time for sentiment now.”

  “I don’t have much time, do I?”

  “Sit tight,” Carling said. “I’m in my car now, near you. Look out your side window.”

  Matt did as he was told.

  “Do you see the sign for the bakery, the one in the next block? I’m parked in the alley behind that bakery. There’s a garage with a door open. I’ll back the car in. I should be at your place in a couple of minutes. I’ll make this quick. Keep watching. Before I get there, I’ll case the area to see if anyone is keeping watch on your building. Got it? Is there somewhere you can go now, if you have to make a run for it?”

  Matt started to tell him about the basement but didn’t get past the first word before being cut off.

  “Not now!” Carling yelled. “Not over the phone. Do you have an escape route?”

  “Yes,” Matt said, then described it using the code words Carling had written in his note.

  It was enough to let Carling know he would be waiting for the detective in the basement.

  “Good. I want you to get the hell out of the apartment, right away,” said Carling, his words disguised by the code. “If they come at you from the front, how will you get out? You can’t. You said nobody uses the back stairs. Take that way down to the basement. Wait there. If you hear steps, it will either be CleanSweep agents—or me.” He gave a short laugh. “You can only hope it’s me.”

  “What if they come before you get here?”

  “Kiss your ass good-bye. They want you alive for a reason, and I don’t think it will be for a good purpose.”

  Matt stared at the phone in his hand. Carling disconnected without saying anything more. Knowing it was the detective’s typical style, Matt didn’t take it personally.

  He picked up his shoulder bag and another larger case. Looking around, he realized it was probably the last time he would see the place where he and Tanner had shared the single malt. That seemed like ages ago.

  He didn’t bother locking the door as he dashed to the rear stairwell. Matt didn’t hesitate—or look around to see if anybody was there—and he almost stumbled in his hurry to get to the basement.

  This would be no time for a fall down the stairs.

  He was on the main floor and about to open the door to the basement when the front lobby door thumped open. Matt froze with his hand on the doorknob.

  “I’m sorry,” a girl said. “I didn’t mean to bang the door like that.”

  “Give me some of those bags,” her male companion said as he looked up and saw Matt.

  “Sorry, dude. Too many groceries,” he said. They disappeared up the front stairs.

  Matt ran to the front and looked out. He didn’t see anyone
and returned to the door to the basement stairs.

  When will Carling be here?

  Matt opened the door and went down. The second door to the safe room was hanging open, and he was surprised at the extent of the damage caused by the acid he had used earlier. A source had told him to use carborane superacid mixed with a dash of triflic acid, promising that it would be a million times stronger than sulfuric acid. Matt saw now what that really meant. It had even dissolved glass and metal. Luckily, he had worn his protective face mask and jumpsuit.

  He jumped when he heard heavy footsteps on the floor overhead. The door to the basement opened and slammed shut. Matt let out a long breath when he saw Carling hunched forward and racing down the stairs.

  “I don’t think anyone saw me,” Carling said. “I came in the back door. I checked the car I’m driving for a GPS tracker. The department uses them to track all police vehicles, but that car hasn’t been used in ages—maybe since before they were even tracking cars. I couldn’t detect one. Who knows?”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Matt said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm, but he knew it was only Carling being Carling.

  “Look, skip the tender feelings. There are very few people you can count on right now, and you’re damn lucky I’m one of them. I won’t waste words, especially not on a civilian, so don’t get your knickers in a knot.”

  “I’m not ungrateful,” Matt said. “I’m so scared I almost pissed myself just now.”

  “We both need to ease off,” the detective said. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. How the fuck are you?” Carling broke into a grin.

  Matt’s shoulders sagged as the tension released. “Do you have any plan at all?”

  “I was hoping you did,” said Carling. He stopped. “I’m sorry, I was just jamming your gears.” He starting looking around. “What a fucking mess. To answer your question, yes, I have a plan, but we have to get out of here.”